Tyrants and Terriers
by Lost timemachine
Summary: A collection of short stories revolving around the relationship between Havelock Vetinari and Samuel Vimes. All of these stories are set in the future. Contains assassination attempts, kidnappings and quiet, instrospective conversations.
1. Chapter 1

**Tyrants and Terriers**

A Discworld fanfiction

**Disclaimer**: I do not own these characters or the Discworld series; they belong to Sir Terry Pratchett. This is merely for entertainment purposes. If I owned Discworld, there would be a lot more Vetinari and Vimes conversations.

**Warnings**: Blood, violence and lots of references to Watch books.

**Dedication**_: For all those who wanted more Discworld fan fiction with Vetinari and Vimes._

It was almost sun set when Commander Sam Vimes sat down in one of the chairs in the otherwise empty waiting room in the Patrician´s Palace and placed a stack of finished paperwork on the chair on his left. The spring of lilac on his uniform was still fresh, and Sam could not help but think of the watchmen who looked oddly at him, who did not know, who did not remember. The tiles in front of the building had felt wonderfully familiar after a difficult day of chasing unlicensed thieves and managing a larger Watch than the Commander had ever dreamed would ever exist.

Commander Vimes watched as Lord Downey clenched his jaw and stormed as quickly as he could possibly get away with it, out of the Oblong Office doubtlessly after an ice-cold, deeply sarcastic comment from the Patrician. Sir Samuel had overheard about Downey´s schooldays from the trainee assassins. Mostly when said trainee assassins had made an attempt on his life and were dog paddling in the pond outside the mansion or hanging upside down.

Oh, _yes_, Sam thought, grimly and slightly triumphantly, as the door slammed shut, _I will get you back when I´m your boss..._

Sam felt tired to the bone as he looked up at Drumknott, who motioned him inside the Oblong Office. This had become more common now; he no longer had to wait for as long as he had done some years ago. Nodding to the secretary and ignoring the infernal clock on the wall while he scooped up the papers before heading into the office.

He closed his eyes for a brief second to try to fight the screaming ache in his knees, and for that second his entire sense of time momentarily vanished. For that brief second he was stepping into the office of Lord Snapcase, in a world where the rich could get away with everything, a world of barricades and conspiracies and fear. Sam Vimes exhaled and pushed the door open. His heart still fluttered in unmistakable fear and burning anger at Lord Snapcase, at Lord Winder, at the Patricians who had not cared about the city at all.

Vetinari sat behind his desk as per usual, a quill in hand and waited patiently for Vimes to put away the heap of paper in his hands. The Patrician looked up, a polite expression on his face as Vimes sat down carefully on the chair opposite him after saluting.

„Ah, Vimes"said Havelock Vetinari, putting down the quill as Vimes put on his special-talking to Vetinari face and moved his gaze to the wall. But instead of asking Vimes the usual questions about the Watch and criminals and subtle politics, the Patrician stood up from his chair and walked to the window, regarding the city. Sam hesitated for a fraction of a second, and then joined the Patrician. In the last golden rays of the sun, Sam could see silver stands in Lord Vetinari´s black hair and the faint wrinkles around his eyes.

This was allowing Vimes to see something that could be considered a weakness, Vimes thought as he tugged his reading glasses from the inner pocket of his robe. He did not wear them at any of the Watch houses, nor did he wear them at home when he could get away with it. This could be considered to be a matter of trust. They watched the city in silence that was bordering on comfortable. There was so much history between them, and Vimes reflected on Carrot´s confusion of how Vetinari and Vimes could communicate extremely complex messages with barely a word.

"The world has changed", Lord Vetinari said quietly, his voice soft. Sam Vimes stared at his master in silence. This was not how the game was played. This was no time for pretending to not understand.

"Yes, my lord" said the Commander carefully, noting the subtlest tone of regret, perhaps even sadness in the Patrician´s tone. There was no mocking in that response, in fact, if one bothered to dig a bit, there was respect.

Havelock Vetinari, the man who frightened even assassins turned around and looked straight into Vimes´s eyes. As those light blue eyes stared at him, causing cold sweat to break out on his brow, it became clear to Sam that he no longer knew how to do his job, how to be the Commander of the Watch without Vetinari as his boss. He could no longer really imagine Ankh Morpork without the tall man in front of him.

"It appears that the head of the Assassins is upset by your actions, Commander", the Patrician supplied, resting a bit heavier on his cane and lifting his eyes towards the ceiling.

"Yes, sir. The Assassins tried to develop a new kind of weapon; it resembled the gonne too much in my opinion. I will not allow that." Sam did not mention the way that the Patrician´s bad leg was trembling ever so slightly.

"Indeed. It might also be that he is still bitter about you punching him a while back, Sir Samuel", Lord Vetinari said, airily, "Incidentally, since you have returned to the city, things have calmed back down."

"Sir", Vimes said, scrutinizing the man beside him. He did not mention the troll drug-related gang fights, the horrendous amount of paperwork on his desk, or how the majority of watchmen seemed to be much younger than he felt they had any right to be. Vetinari already knew all this.

Lord Vetinari´s eyes did not waver from Vimes´s face as the Commander lowered his gaze and their eyes met.

Sam had been aware, in a murky, back of his mind sort of way, that Vetinari needed him around and that the city could not properly function without them working together. He had never really dwelt on it; it was just the way things were. Sam felt his muscles ache and his eyes burned. There were large splotches of mud on his trousers, still only partly dry and half-healed wounds still pounded dully if he moved his arm. Carrot had handled all of today´s disasters with ease, which had made Vimes feel old and so very tired.

"As it appears that the city is well balanced at the moment, Samuel, I bid you good night ", Lord Vetinari said quietly, seating himself down again and nodding approvingly at the pile of paperwork. The Commander´s eyes widened and he automatically straightened up, his thought process came to a screeching halt. Sam could hear Mr. Fusspot whimper under the desk.

"What did you say, sir? " Sam blurted out, watching Vetinari´s calm expression for any sign of meaning. Havelock leaned slightly forward, putting his fingertips together and raising his eyebrow slightly. Sam´s heart thundered in his ears, Vetinari had never called him by his first name before.

Maybe this was it. Maybe this was the moment Vimes had been dreading for years, the time when the Patrician would force him to leave the Watch and retire permanently. After all, he was not the young man he used to be. People all around the city had been hinting at whether the Commander was not going to hand over his badge soon, of that he was a man of action and everything was peaceful now. They still called him Vetinari´s terrier, though and Vetinari knew about the rumors, there was no doubt about that. And yet…

"Do not let me detain you, Commander" the Patrician said, taking hold of the stack of paperwork that Sam had arrived with. Vimes did not move as the sounds of metal outside the office where making his hands twitch for his sword. The spring of lilac on the Patrician´s robe seemed to glimmer as the Patrician lit a candle, his eyes focusing on Vimes´s form. There was the barest hint of a smile on the Patrician´s lips.

Vimes was silent, but Vetinari could doubtlessly see something in the watchman´s eyes, Sam thought as he saw the calm, sensible look leave Vetinari´s eyes to be replaced with something that Sam could only classify as sadness.

Sybil had once hinted at that the reason Vetinari had bestowed so many honorary titles and privileges upon her husband was that it was the only way the Patrician allowed himself to show his fondness for the other man. Sam did not have a proper response to that.

"Sir", Vimes said, just to be on the safe side, and nodded before leaving the office. Then he stopped dead in front of Drumknott´s well polished and immaculately organized desk, the memory of the soft sound of an arrow rushing through the air ringing in his ears as the door closed behind him.

As he trudged down the stairs outside the Palace, on his way back to the Watch house HQ in the darkness of the night, his mind replayed the scenario inside the Oblong Office again and again, there had been something wrong, he was certain of it. But then he just shook his head, the bastard had probably just been playing mind games with him, as usual.

Lord Vetinari finished reading the last file by the light of the candle, his light blue eyes never wavering from the scribbles of the Commander about the current events in the city. There was the slightest whisper and the Patrician smiled as the two black clad men in front of him drew their weapons. The smile was razor sharp and as quick and merciless as lightning and the men´s smug expressions faltered as they remembered who they were dealing with. But they did not flinch, even as the eyes of the supreme ruler of the greatest city of the Discworld bored into them. And the foundations of the world trembled ever so slightly.

The light in the Oblong Office went out as Sam Vimes looked up to light a cigar on Broad Way. There was no commotion, no screams of horror, but The Commander of the Watch turned around and sprinted towards the Palace anyway.

The door to the Oblong Office had never been ripped open with so little regard of the consequences before. Sam Vimes stepped inside, practically vibrating with anger, eyes blazing and began fighting the two black clad men as soon as he saw the glint of metal in the Patrician´s hand. Then it was just a blur of motion and blood until the two strangers lay on the floor.

Vetinari and Vimes stood still for a moment, watching the two men, and glancing at each other before Vimes began to see spots dancing before his eyes and the pain in his shoulder and chest threatened to overtake his senses. He could barely hear Vetinari shout for his secretary, or the feel of the Patrician´s hands holding him upright. Then there was only darkness.

Lady Rust, who was there because she refused to leave until Lord Vetinari had agreed to whatever ludicrous plan the aristocracy had come up with this week, looked dispassionately at Drumknott, who was re-arranging the papers on his desk with smooth, practiced movements. A glass jar filled with paperclips glimmered in the light of candles.

"I do not understand this strange turn of events", she said, glancing at Drumknott who remained silent, "Havelock is trained as an Assassin, he has the Palace guard and practically an army of spies and clerks".

Drumknott carefully fastened a silver paperclip to a thick file that bore the Commander´s signature and the seal of the Patrician.

"He has no need for a _**guard**_, he does not need this man Sam Vimes when push comes to a shove". Her tone was arrogant and so deeply aristocratic, there was no room for contradictions, as to her this was a clear fact.

And Drumknott, efficient, neat, humble Drumknott placed his pencil on the desk, straightened up and met the woman´s eyes. The temperature of the room sunk to the point of that Mr. Fusspot was surprised that he did not see icicles manifesting on the furniture as he trotted inside the room with Captain Angua and Captain Carrot on his heels.

"Yes he does", the head secretary stated quietly, his eyes locked on hers.

The bed Sam Vimes woke up in was suspiciously free of the usual amount of pillows, Sybil and the smell of dragons that always hung in the air of the mansion was absent. So he opened his eyes to find himself in the Palace. Vimes turned his head slightly to the right, only to see Lord Vetinari sitting at a simple desk, writing by candlelight.

"What-?" the Commander spluttered, as moonlight shone though the small window and illuminated the blanket that covered him. It had small stars on it.

"Doctor Lawn was so good to look you over and take care of your injuries. He also insisted that you should not be moved from this bed for several hours to make sure you would rest. The two men we, er, dealt with are under custody of the Watch now."

Vimes raised himself upon his elbows with a bit of difficulty, but the Patrician spoke before he had even opened his mouth.

"Lady Sybil has of course been informed that you are not in mortal peril and that the two men are being interrogated by the Watch _and_ the Assassins."

There was a long silence, in which Vimes lowered himself back on the bed and felt his eyes become heavy with fatigue.

"Why did you do it?" Sam muttered, mostly to himself and his words were half-drowned in the pillow. This was not in the rules, but he decided that since he was never quite sure of what the rules were anyway, and this was certainly not any place or time for such things. Sam´s hands still had some blood on them. He was not entirely certain whose it was. Lord Vetinari continued writing, but the Commander could practically feel the eyebrow lift and the piecing stare.

"I accomplish a great deal of things every day, Sir Samuel, you will have to be more specific", his lordship said quietly, his pen still dancing over the page in front of him.

Vimes knew that he would never get a chance like this again in his lifetime, but a glance at the barely visible bags under the Patrician´s eyes and the black dressing gown on a peg in the open dresser took care of the more hurtful ones. That, and the sluggish pain that seemed to float through Sam´s body. He decided to ignore the pain.

"Why did you promote me?" Vimes said, fishing the question out of the thousands he would like to ask.

Vetinari blinked.

"You saved my life, I have informed you of this before, I believe", the Patrician said, his blue eyes did not leave Sam´s face for some time afterwards.

Most of their conversations were done in silence, after all.

When Sam opened his eyes again, time had passed, according the greatly decreased size of the candle beside his boss, and the Commander opened his mouth to say something smart. Then he realized that Lord Vetinari was not writing at all, but simply sitting very still, clearly lost in thought. From the admittedly small distance, Sam could see what appeared to be music sheets on the desk and the darker spots on the black robes where the blood had soaked through at the place where Vetinari had been shot all those years ago.

Vimes stood up carefully, his feet bare on the cold floor and edged closer to the tall, thin man. "Sir?", Vimes whispered, recalling that the man was after all educated as an Assassin and it would be unwise to startle him.

"You were also in that fight and should rest", Vimes stated as Vetinari finally detached himself from whatever thought had been occupying his mind.

"I assure you that it is nothing, Sir Samuel", Vetinari replied, and motioned towards the bed, indicating that Vimes should go back to sleep. But Sam simply frowned and glanced at the black dressing gown before leaning on the table with his knuckles.

"No. None of this nonsense of pretending that you don´t care at all about the fact that you are bleeding all over the floor", Vimes muttered, his tone harsh.

Lord Vetinari was silent for a moment, and used the time to gather all the papers on the desk into neat piles and then he returned his gaze upon the man in front of him.

"I appear to have temporarily lost control of my legs, and cannot rise from this chair, Vimes." the black clad man said, so quietly that Sam had to stain his ears to hear it. Then Vimes simply and totally without thinking of what he was doing, lifted the Patrician from the chair and carried him over to the bed where he placed the man on his back. Sam waited for the cold, sarcastic remark but he Patrician merely closed his eyes.

Vimes stepped over his own armor, which was lying on the floor and sat down in the chair by the desk. Watching the ruler intently, he rummaged around in his pockets for a cigar, but found none. And just when he had become certain that Vetinari was asleep, the man opened his eyes and looked at Vimes, and said something that Sam´s brain seamlessly translated as: "There is a good man".

Sam did not leave the chair until Drumknott knocked politely on the door at dawn, carrying a cup of tea and the morning edition of the Times. The secretary nodded respectfully as Vimes stood up, now clad in his armor and the Commander glanced one last time at Lord Vetinari before leaving the Palace.

When he arrived at Pseudopolis Yard there was a brand new kettle sitting on his desk which was mysteriously paperwork-free beside a single slip of paper that informed him of an appointment he had with the Patrician later that day. Vimes smiled slightly on his way home, the scent of lilacs still heavy and sweet in the air and the sunlight glinting off his uniform.

The end

**Author´s note**: Please remember to review.


	2. Chapter 2

Only yesterday

A Discworld fan fiction

**Disclaimer**: I do not own these characters or the Discworld series; they belong to Sir Terry Pratchett. This is merely for entertainment purposes. If I owned Discworld, there would be a lot more Vetinari and Vimes conversations.

**Warnings: **Violence, mild swearing, spoilers for Snuff and other books in the Watch-series.

**Dedication**: _For all those who wanted even more Discworld fan fiction with Vetinari and Vimes._

In one corner of Commander Vimes's office, behind the paperwork-covered desk, was an old steel file cabinet illuminated by a golden ray of sunlight. It had H. Vetinari written on the card in black, slightly faded ink. The file cabinet contained all sorts of things, like obviously, files, invitations to charity events, newspaper clippings and several of the late Wuffles´s dog biscuits in a sealed bag. The last drawer is locked. No one had ever asked Vimes for the key.

Sam stood up from the leather chair behind his desk, shoving a letter from Lord Vetinari into his pocket as he headed for the door. The black wax seal with the letter V on the envelope was smooth under his scarred fingers. As the door slammed, stirring up dust, which glimmered in the evening sun one could hear the Commander mutter something about coppers and bloody speeches. The scent of lilac was fading from the air outside and as Vimes trudged towards the Palace, looking for any crime he could find, he could not help but think of the past, when Ankh Morpork had been so different. He breathed deeply, the sweet flowery scent triggering memories that flash before his eyes like fireworks. So many of his watchmen do not remember how Ankh Morpork used to be, and for a moment he feels immeasurably tired and old. But he shook his head, there is no time for such thoughts, Vetinari was delivering a speech in front of the Palace and he has to hurry.

A large crowd had already assembled, but people moved aside to let him through. Vimes wordlessly took his place by the side of the Patrician, who nodded politely, leaning on his black cane, eyes glinting. Sam regarded the crowd, mentally checking that all his officers are in place, searching for any kind of threat. Beside him, Lord Vetinari made a subtle movement with his cane and the crowd falls silent at once. The tall, black clad man began his speech, but Sam only listened for key words, these words are not meant for him. The world watched.

A glint of metal near a tree in the Palace grounds caught Sam´s attention, he scowled and his hands twitched for his sword. The applause was distant in his ears as he focused on the person beside the ancient, tall tree that swayed in the cold wind. He identified the owner of the clearly illegal bow who was standing beside the tree, and he realized, on late Wuffles the Terrier´s grave. Sam´s hands clapped automatically as he planned the arrest, a faint smirk on his lips.

Sam opened his mouth, intending to say something along the lines of:

"Former captain Quirke, step off Wuffles´s grave, show some respect, you horrible little man", and then it would all be over. A simple, straightforward arrest, Sam thought as he subtly signaled Captains Carrot and Angua.

Lord Vetinari turned around to face Sam, black robes swirling magnificently and Sam could glimpse the tiny smirk that was the Vetinari equivalent of a fist bump.

Then the man beside the tree made a practiced, fluent movement and suddenly the arrow was pointed straight at Lord Vetinari´s chest.

_No, don´t you dare, you utter bastard_, Sam thought, as former-Captain Quirke of the Day Watch took his stance, crushing a dog biscuit under the heel of his boot. Vimes took a casual step in front of the Patrician, the Commander's eyes still locked with Quirke´s.

It had nothing to do with the respect in Lord Vetinari´s eyes in the graveyard, Sam told himself, or the faint smile he was sometimes graced with when the Patrician thought he was not paying attention or the fact that the bloody bastard had built a series of clacks towers at super speed just to contact Sam when he was on vacation. This was his duty.

Behind the Commander, there was the silken sound of Lord Vetinari slowly drawing the blade slightly, almost invisibly, from his cane. Sam Vimes closed his eyes for a second, adrenaline rushing though his veins, his senses hyper alert, the scent of lilac, the chatter of the thinning crowd, the smooth paving stones underneath the soles of his sandals. Surely the bastard would realize just how stupid trying to assassinate the Patrician in broad daylight would be?

The arrow was released.

So many people would have let Vetinari die when he had gotten shot; when he was poisoned and let the grass root resistances flourish. So many people would rather let the city clean up the mess in hope of an easier, more pleasant boss. Someone who, preferably, did not always know everything that was going on and did not have secret, brilliant plans that might just involve you.

Vimes barely felt the impact as the arrow went though his breastplate like a hot spoon though ice cream. He could see Carrot and Angua grab the former policeman now turned amateur assassin by his shoulders, as the pain in his shoulder exploded, causing Sam to stumble and fall to the ground.

Lord Vetinari sat down very carefully in the wooden chair by the bed where the Commander lay sleeping. Bandages covered Vimes´s right shoulder and chest and his hands were covered in lotion that would heal the burn wounds which were undoubtedly caused by Sybil´s dragons. The Patrician´s bad leg shook slightly, but there was no one around to see it.

They are old men now, he thought as Sam muttered something into the pillow, the lines and wrinkles around the watchman´s eyes more pronounced as he slept.

A sigh escaped the tall man´s lips as he watched the other man´s eyes flicker open. Then Vimes blinked groggily and stared at the Patrician and his surroundings. This was undoubtedly the Patrician´s Palace and not the hospital or his own home.

"Welcome back, Sir Samuel", Vetinari said simply, the usual briskness entirely absent from his voice, "did you sleep well?"

Vimes does not dignify this with an answer, because he has had a nightmare, one of the bad reoccurring ones, where he is too late to save the man sitting on the wooden chair beside the bed being brutally tortured to death or poisoned with something that kills instantly. Instead he meets Lord Vetinari´s light blue eyes, this is no appointment and he does not bother to put on his talking-to-Lord-Vetinari face.

"You are a good man, but you can be a stubborn, headstrong fool as well, Vimes", the Patrician said, "acting as a human shield-"

"It´s my job, sir, protecting you", Vimes replied quietly and there was no room for negotiation in his tone, "I am your guard".

Lord Vetinari attempted to rise from the wooden chair, but his leg shook uncontrollably beneath him and he lowered himself back on the chair. He ran a hand through his hair, eyes narrowing in pain he glanced at the watchman, who was still holding his hand after trying to steady him.

"I am very grateful for your actions" Vetinari said carefully as Vimes let go of his pale fingers and lay back on the bed. Sam waited for the inevitable discussion about rewards and new technologies that the city must adapt. But his lordship placed his fingertips together briefly before lighting the tall candle on the bedside table. Sam could see the silver in his master´s hair as Vetinari raised his head to look at the ceiling.

It dawned on Vimes that Lord Vetinari was not wearing the Patrician´s robes. Instead the tall man was wearing a black dressing gown and a white nightshirt. Sam had the strange urge to tell Vetinari to put his clothes back on. But then he understood, this was not the Patrician he was with, this was Havelock. Sam had forgotten that behind the cunning, pragmatic Patrician and the extremely skilled Assassin was Havelock, the man.

"The city needs you, my lord" Vimes said insistently, ignoring the pain in his chest and shoulder, "even though it works better now, it could still collapse in no time."

The tall man gave a faint, sad smile and glanced at Vimes, who was staring at him.

Vetinari had subtly planted the idea that if anyone murdered Sam Vimes there would be hell to pay a long time ago. Vimes, who came to the Oblong office every day despite knowing that his boss could assassinate him within seconds and usually said 'sir' like it was really 'you bloody idiot'. Sam Vimes, who reminded him every day that he was not infallible and could be challenged.

Sam closed his eyes and Lord Vetinari opened the drawer on the bedside table and drew out a thick stack of music sheets.

"Vetinari´s terrier", he whispered to himself as Vimes´s breathing became deep and regular. Then he settled down to read.

Three days later Sam Vimes found himself in the Oblong office at sunset. He had been allowed to go straight inside and Havelock Vetinari gestured for him to join him at the window that overlooked the city. They were two boys who set out to fix the world the best they could, Sam thought as Lord Vetinari turned to look at him, and they had done a decent job of it.

One day they will just be names in history books, figures in slightly faded iconographs and quotes in yellowing newspaper clippings. They would be stories that people told others about, which tended to include the phrase "they don´t make them like this anymore, dear", in front of the fire, or in the streets or in crowded aristocratic ball rooms. But today they stood side by side, the Commander of the Watch and the Patrician and watched over the city.

The end.

**Author´s note**: Please remember to review, they make me happy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Loyalty**

A Discworld fanfic

**Disclaimer**: I do not own these characters or the Discworld series; they belong to Sir Terry Pratchett. This is merely for entertainment purposes. If I owned Discworld, there would be a lot more Vetinari and Vimes conversations.

**Warnings**: Blood, violence and lots of references to Watch books.

**Dedication**: _For all those who wanted more Discworld fan fiction with Vetinari and Vimes._

Sam Vimes woke up to the sound of someone knocking on the front door. Well, it was more like they were trying to break it down but were too well brought up to do so. 'Most likely another violent crime' he thought until Drumknott, Lord Vetinari´s head clerk, stood right in front of him in the hallway. The clerk was as pale as a ghost and breathing harshly, his usually prim clothing in slight disarray.

"He´s gone!" said Drumknott, "He´s vanished! Lord Vetinari was neither in his bedroom nor in his office when I went to give him the morning edition of the Times and his tea. His office´s all-"

"Yes?" urged Vimes, his mind reeling with relief that the Patrician had not died in the night and at the same time he felt his heart drop at the horrible, frightened tone in Drumknott´s voice.

"It´s covered with blood and everything is a complete mess" Drumknott said, staring intently at Vimes as the watchman went into his bedroom to get dressed, "I came here straight away, sir."

The Commander returned from the bedroom, pulling on his best sandals while trying to get out of the mansion as quickly as possible with Drumknott and waving goodbye to Sybil and Young Sam. The expression on Sam´s face as he turned around to run towards the Patrician´s Palace, all thought of coaches or sedan chairs completely forgotten, was one that could make whole armies flee in fear.

"Perhaps this is just a decoy or a set up, sir?" Carrot asked as Vimes circled the overturned chair in the Oblong Office once again and regarded the still fresh blood on the floor, eyes burning. The Commander turned around slowly, indicating that Carrot continue speaking.

"His lordship might not want to be found, sir? Maybe he's just retired or gone on his holidays. The city is much more stable now than it was some years ago after all and he is getting older..."

There was a dangerous silence.

"People who are going on holiday do not usually leave their office covered in blood and paperwork." Cheery supplied, as she drew a glass vial from her leather bag.

"Vetinari would not leave the city like this, I know him well enough to tell you that. Hurry to the next clacks tower and send a message to the Watch houses in all the other cities. We must find him soon." Vimes said, reading the dull paperwork in hope of some sort of clue whilst mentally lining up criminals who would be stupid enough to kidnap the Patrician. Nobby, still in his traffic-calming disguise, left the office hurriedly in search of the next clacks tower.

Sam did not like to think about what the city would be like without Vetinari. He had become used to the meetings in the Oblong office, the snarky banter and the meaningful looks. He had become used to the security and progress that were parts of having Vetinari as the supreme ruler of Ankh Morpork. Of course he knew perfectly well that the man could play him like the violin, but that hardly seemed to matter at all now in this place, Sam thought as Igor dragged away two unconscious and heavily wounded men that had been lying under the desk. Mr. Fusspot growled at them and then ran in circles around Vimes, whining and barking.

"There is blood from a lot of other people, sir, not just from the two Assassins that were in a heap under his lordship's desk", Cheery commented as she inspected blood splatters on both the walls and the paperwork. Vimes nodded grimly, eyes glinting. You did not mess with Havelock Vetinari.

Gradually, the watch officers left the crime scene, leaving only Commander Vimes and Captain Carrot. Vimes stood by the window, facing the glass and tried to think like Lord Vetinari. The city spread out in front of him so much larger and cleaner than he had ever suspected it would be.

"But what do we do if he does not want to come back?" Carrot said, lingering in the doorway, "What do we do if he has died, sir?"

Images of Lord Vetinari´s blood soaked leg, the dark bags under his eyes and the pale, feverish hue on his face when he had been poisoned flickered briefly before Vimes´s vision as did hundreds of others. There were many ways to die.

"We will find him first, Carrot" Vimes almost growled, patting a whimpering Mister Fusspot and closing the door behind him with a respectful nod to Drumknott, who was sitting at his desk. To Sam Vimes, there was no other option. It was not even up for discussion.

Angua joined them on Broad Way, carrying a pile of clacks messages which all informed them that they had in fact not seen Lord Vetinari and then, in an accusatory tone, they also asked if that was somehow a bad thing.

People were very co-operative when asked to help with the case, which owed a great deal to the general conviction that Vimes was not in a good mood at all and it would be unwise to anger him further. The other half was alarmed that Vetinari was missing or thought this was some sort of devious, cunning plan that would have horrible consequences and they better help so it would not affect them.

The Watch finally located the place near the edge of the Shades. A grass-root resistance they had ruled out as not important a few months ago had actually succeeded.

"Open up in the name of the Law!" someone shouted as the wind ripped at the now gathering crowd, which hummed in approval.

"No!"a voice from within the building replied and A.E. Pessimal straightened up and rolled up the sleeves of his battered shirt.

"Detritus!" Commander Vimes shouted as Sergeant Colon touched the brim of him helmet discreetly, signaling that the warehouse was completely surrounded by armed and capable watchmen.

"Yes, sir?" the troll replied, adjusting his weapon.

"Blow the bloody doors off!" Vimes thundered, white hot anger spreading through him, momentarily warming him as the cold rain soaked them to the skin. His voice was almost drowned by the storm.

At least thirty criminals stared in mute horror at the new hole in the wall. Sam Vimes smiled, as he stood framed in the newly created doorway, the noise level rose as the men tried to flee only to be caught by various watchmen.

"No!" said a man in a huge black coat, loudly enough to silence almost everyone in the great open space. He stared at Vimes, who recognized him as a former Unmentionable they had never found after the revolution.

"Not you, it is not possible, not him!" the man, who was clearly the grandmaester of this resistance, muttered feverishly he turning his head around to look at Lord Vetinari as if looking for confirmation.

The Patrician stood in the middle of the warehouse, leaning on his black cane and looked straight into the eyes of the former Unmentionable with his eyebrow slightly raised.

"Yes." Lord Vetinari stated, and Sam caught a glimpse of a small, somehow triumphant grin as Vetinari motioned for Vimes to come to him and the man was dragged away by Captain Angua. Around them were officers reading the criminals their rights and handcuffing them. It turned out that many of the criminals, who were wanted in various countries, had no idea that they had been accomplices to kidnapping the Patrician and had believed that the man had been Charlie, the actor who played Vetinari at children´s parties. This was completely understandable, as Charlie was extremely good at his job, after having so many years of practice. In fact, he was so talented that when he would appear at a child´s birthday party the parents would instantly become utterly convinced that Lord Vetinari was in fact in their house or garden. Then, said parents would become very law abiding and dutiful for at least four months after the party. Both Lord Vetinari and Commander Vimes approved of this and did nothing what-so-ever to prevent it from happening.

As Sam walked towards the Patrician, who stood tall, black, lethal and somehow magnificent in the faint moonlight, relief flooded through him and he ignored the blood still trickling down his shoulder and the screaming ache in his knees.

"Commander Vimes." Vetinari said in greeting, as they headed for the exit and Vimes met his lordship's eyes without a word. Commander Vimes had many pressing questions he wanted to shout at his boss, but he knew that he would never get proper answers. Captains Carrot and Angua took over the situation instantly as the two men walked side by side into the night. The street was empty beside them and Sam opened his mouth to say something smart but his lordship spoke before he could utter a word.

"Sterling work, Vimes." the man beside him said his name clearly, with none of the fancy titles that the Patrician so loved to rub in, Sam thought and tried to ignore the strange pang in his chest.

Then Lord Vetinari turned his back to the black carriage and bowed his head suddenly. In the faint moonlight, for a second, this is the Vetinari Vimes remembers from straight after the incident with the dragon. His hair is still a shiny black and there is no elegant cane and no limp. His own heart no longer hurt and he didn't feel tired at all.

But there was something about the movement in Havelock´s eyes that stopped Sam completely in his tracks. He isn't certain if this was a bow or just a nod but before he can come to a sufficient conclusion the driver opens the door to the coach and Vetinari steps inside with a practiced movement and indicates that the Commander follow him. For a moment Vimes just stood there.

In his heart, he was still just Sam from Cockbill Street who doesn't sit in nice carriages. Sam shook his head and went inside to sit down beside his boss. The taller man's shoulders slumped as he sighed and placed his pale hand upon Vimes´s larger, scarred one. Light blue eyes met Sam´s briefly, but the watchman didn´t move away. The ride to the Palace wasn't long and they spent it in a nearly comfortable silence. Vimes could see the faint wrinkles around Vetinari´s eyes and near the corners of his mouth. The door was opened by the driver, and they stepped out in front of the large building. The Commander lit a cigar and pretended not to see how the Patrician gripped his cane so hard his knuckles whitened.

Lord Vetinari´s pace had slowed down considerably as his leg shook and threatened to give out beneath him. Vimes automatically took the Patrician´s arm to steady him. After a few steps Sam realized how dangerous this action was, although instinctive, but the man in black just looked at him. There was no raising of the eyebrow nor cunning remarks about the nature of the universe or policing. In the darkness Vetinari simply allowed Vimes to gently support him.

The Oblong Office was brightly lit with candles and the paperwork was stacked in neat piles on the desk when they arrived. The blood had been cleaned off and Drumknott politely placed two cups of hot tea in front of them before leaving the room as quietly as humanly possible.

"It has come to my attention", Lord Vetinari said, his tone thoughtful, "that there is nothing about protecting the ruler of the city in the Watch oath".

Sam nodded and sipped his tea, watching the Patrician sit down carefully in the austere chair behind the desk. He had never tasted such good tea before in his life. Silver moonlight was partially illuminating the Oblong Office and he felt himself slip partially back into being the Commander of the Watch, instead of just being Sam. He knew this situation. Pain and weariness began to seep through his body.

"I'd like to think," Vetinari elaborated, his voice becoming surprisingly gentle "and I may be entirely wrong in this assumption, that you saved my life not because I am your boss, but because through the years we have become a sort of friends.".

Sam looked at the tall man in front of him, at the tenseness in his shoulders, the barest hint of hesitancy in the last word still lingering in the air between them. Lord Havelock Vetinari, the watchman thought, was allowing him to see his weaknesses, his fragility and trusting him to keep him safe. The accuracy of the statement sunk in. There was no undercurrent of trickery or deception in the ruler´s voice.

Usually he would have replied with some smart comment, something that would have diverted the fragile truth lingering underneath most of their conversations. Something like 'saving someone's life is no basis for a relationship'. He would have said it but he already knew that Lord Vetinari´s reply to the comment would be something like 'but doing it again and again does point to said person´s importance in one´s life does it not?'

But he felt tired and stripped bare of all his usual protective walls. He was covered in sweat and blood and rainwater. There was simply no use denying this any longer. The bastard probably knew what he was thinking judging by the expression on his face, which Vimes could still not fully decipher.

"Yes." Sam replied, meeting Havelock´s eyes. He nodded and looked at Vimes for some time, at the man who just turned the city upside down to find him and who refused to let anyone hurt him.

"Do not let me detain you, Vimes." said Lord Vetinari quietly. Vimes sat still, attempting to register the lack of briskness and the subtlest undercurrent of warmth.

"Sir" Vimes replied, just to be on the safe side and saluted nearly perfectly before heading outside. The branches of the gravestone of Wuffles the Terrier swayed in a gentle breeze as the sun came up.

When the Commander came into his office the next afternoon there was a basket on the floor. Sleeping in the basket was a wire-haired terrier puppy with the watch badge on his collar. Captain Angua informed him that he was the start of a canine training program to help the Watch. Sergeant Colon held a brand new kettle in his hands, which he waved dramatically, indicating its quality. Later, Sam found a packet of his favorite brand of cigars in a drawer in his desk with a black wax seal of the Patrician on the front of it.

The end.

**Author´s note**: Please remember to review.


	4. Chapter 4

**A good man**

A Discworld fan fiction

**Disclaimer**: I do not own these characters or the Discworld series; they belong to Sir Terry Pratchett. This is merely for entertainment purposes. If I owned Discworld, there would be a lot more Vetinari and Vimes conversations.

**Warnings**: Slight language, blood, implied violence and lots of carriages. Possible spoilers for Snuff.

**Dedication**: _For iceageheatwave._

"A companion loves some agreeable qualities which a man may possess, but a friend loves the man himself." –James Boswell 

There is a loud thunk on the roof of the Patrician´s carriage. Commander Samuel Vimes of the City Watch straightens his knees as the carriage slows down, his battered breastplate gleaming faintly in the light of torches. The sword in his hand is soaked in blood and there are large bruises on his face and arms. The graying hair that can be seen underneath his helmet is glued to his head due to a mixture of sweat and grime. Inside the carriage, the head diplomat from Klatchistan and the Prince of Klatch looked up in alarm.

The Commander regained his balance, and looked around at the variety of crossbows and oversized weapons that were pointed in the direction of the vehicle he was standing on. He did not shout or threaten; instead he was completely still and stared every single one of the potential attackers in the face for the time it took to unnerve them. He did not have to say: 'when this is over, I will arrest you and then I will drag you in front of the Patrician, if you do as much as move or if you run, I will find you and then you will be knee deep in shit', they already knew. Weapons were lowered or in some cases thrown into the next alley only to be caught by little old ladies or Thieves.

A hidden door on the roof was pushed open beside Vimes. He jumped down into the still moving carriage to find himself beside the Patrician and in front of a staring, indignant diplomat and the Prince of Klatch he disliked. Splendid.

"Ah, Vimes" said the Patrician in a polite, pleased tone, as if the Commander had a well known habit of riding on rooftops. Vimes lifted his bleeding hand to salute, even if it would just be to annoy the man, but before he could the diplomat spoke.

"Do you not bow before your ruler?" his tone scandalized and hostile, and then the man muttered something disgustedly under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "Vetinari´s terrier".

Sam looked at Lord Vetinari, who had never asked such a thing of him. It would be too much like bowing or kneeling to a king, and Vetinari is no king, even if he is Vimes´s master. Besides, if he would bow to him now his head would end up in Lord Vetinari´s lap since the carriage was crowded and he was sitting at a very awkward angle. The wretched diplomat kept arranging his legs so that they bumped violently against Sam´s bruised, sandal clad feet.

"The fires are being extinguished by the golems", Sir Samuel said briskly, ignoring the two men opposite him, "and the barricades are holding up well-"

There was a large, still bleeding cut on Vetinari´s cheek and another one on his right hand. A purple bruise was blooming on his forehead. This was not a negotiation, this was a hostage situation. The self assured smirk on the Prince's face was fading rapidly as he realized that whatever control of the situation he had possessed, as minor as it might have been, was vanishing before his eyes.

"And the army?" Vetinari asked, winching slightly as he turned to face the watchman. The Patrician was subtly attempting to keep his bad leg as still as possible, Vimes thought. Hot anger spread through his body at the sight, someone was going to pay for this. The Prince straightened up. Sam could see some blood on his fingers; it was slightly smudged as if he had tried to clean it off without much success. Under the man's feet was the Patrician's black cane, which had several small cracks, as if it had been used as a weapon.

"Are being defeated as we speak, many of the solders have either retreated or have started to ask for directions for the more well known sights in the city, sir," Sam said, looking straight into the Prince's eyes as the carriage sped through the city, shaking on the uneven roads.

The Patrician nodded and placed his fingers together, eyes glinting. This gesture was not meant for Vimes, the watchman noted as he placed his sword on his knees. The Prince's expression darkened.

"The Thieves have taken the liberty of stealing a majority of the soldier's weapons, sir and we have arrested a great deal of soldiers for -"

"You cannot do this!" the Prince rumbled, anger flashing in his eyes, his extremely elaborate clothes rustling as he leaned forward in a threatening manner," this is a war!"

Lord Vetinari´s robes, in contrast, were a dusty black and a bit worn, although made out of nice material. They were working man´s clothes. The Patrician raised an eyebrow. Then he leaned back in his seat, as if to watch a concert.

"Oh, I can", Vimes said, lighting a cigar, "I just see a lot of heavily armed people rushing into the city disturbing the Peace and that is not lawful behavior, is it?"

"How dare you speak like this", the diplomat said, his world crumbling around him, "you are nothing, you are just his-his bloody _dog_!"

Sam smiled grimly at the man as the carriage came to a halt in front of the Klatchian embassy only to be opened by 71-Hour Ahmed who nodded politely to Vetinari and Vimes. Global police teamwork was indeed a good thing. Captain Angua and Igor stood beside the Klatchian watchman, discussing just how many charges they could arrest the Prince for. They saluted when they saw the Patrician and gave Igor waved in greeting when he saw Vimes.

"There are big laws and little laws, your highness", Lord Vetinari said, his eyes narrowed, as the Prince was handcuffed, "as I have mentioned several times before. Do not let me detain you any longer."

The Prince turned around, noticing the subtle undercurrent of a warning in his lordship's voice. The small smirk on Vetinari's lips would be a subject of a few speculative footnotes within several history books. Every single one of them agreed that the implied meaning of that expression was essentially 'come on if you think you are hard enough'.

Lord Vetinari closed the door gently and looked up at the ceiling. The Prince was led away by several watchmen and followed by a small crowd of curious citizens.

Sam scooted in the seat and placed his hand on the knob of the door on the other side, his mind already lining up the complicated charges and preparing itself for arguments and huge, towering piles of paperwork. But a thin, pale hand was resting on his shoulder, gently squeezing it. This was not a demand nor was it an order, this was a request. The watchman turned around slowly.

He could have left, just slipped out of the well-maintained carriage and hurried to the nearest Watch House. There was a time, not so long ago, when he would have said something smart to Vetinari at this gesture, but now he looked at the dark bags under the Patrician's light blue eyes and the silver hair and beard. There was a faint smile on the taller man´s lips that Sam had learned to classify as hopeful and completely genuine.

But now he knew that at this point, when chaos reigned and everything was cooling down, there was nothing to do but wait. Sometimes people needed to be allowed to fix things themselves, instead of the higher-ups.

Lord Vetinari did not release his hold on Vimes's shoulder for several moments. The weight of his hand was strangely reassuring. Sam looked at the tall man, who had closed his eyes and was leaning back in his seat. There was a long silence, only broken by their breathing. Vimes stayed.

After a while, as the carriage headed towards the Patrician's Palace Vimes nudged the resting man. Vimes did not shout accusations of that this was a part of some kind of a plan, because he suspected that Vetinari had foreseen what would happen and just minimized the damage. There were more pressing matters at the moment, like the frail man´s badly trembling leg, most likely caused by the pain from a blow with the cane on the floor and aging. Lord Vetinari did not wake up from his doze, so Vimes tried humming the song Tears of the Mushroom had played several years ago at the Opera.

Lord Vetinari had become almost completely still, but his eyes opened at the familiar sound. Sam and Sybil had given him the music sheets that had the longer, complete version of the song on Hogswatch a few years ago, just a couple of months before Sybil´s death. He regarded Vimes for some moments in silence, and then looked down at the white handkerchief bound around the wound on his hand.

"Let´s just get you to home and checked over by a doctor as soon as possible, my lord" Vimes said, attempting to put on a blank expression, relief and caring were clearly visible to the Patrician nonetheless. The watchman would never admit to having bound the cloth around the other man's hand.

"To tell you the truth, Sir Samuel, I did not expect to live this long at all", Lord Vetinari said quietly, glancing at the man beside him, "you have kept me safe".

Sam stared at the black clad man, unsure what to say. He told himself that he would not revert back to the 'sir' he would usually make do with when Vetinari said something he did not want to answer or was pretending not to understand. This was too important for that.

In fact, this was breaking the rules of the game, he was fairly certain of that. Even if he was not sure of what the rules were all the time. He did not care any longer. Around them, the last embers were snuffed out and barricades were taken apart one by one. He met Havelock's light blue eyes.

Vimes nodded, because there was no denying this. It was true; he had kept the Patrician as safe as he possibly could. Beyond the call of duty, many of his watchmen had implied sometimes. They walked side by side to the Palace, after speaking with the press and in Vimes's case being updated on progress by the Watch and having a conversation with a very worried Young Sam, who was all grown up and just called Sam now by everyone except his father.

Vetinari leaned a bit heavier on his cane as he mounted the stairs to the Oblong Office. Sam refused to leave until the Patrician had left his office and sat on his bed to allow Doctor Lawn or the Watch's Igor to inspect his injuries. Dragging Lord Vetinari from his paperwork took at least an half an hour of persuading, but to Vimes it had seemed more like four hours. Mostly due to the endless stream of unwanted visitors in the anteroom who kept making noise. Sam recognized the suspicious mutterings of the aristocracy and had practically dragged his master into the hallway that led to his rooms.

"It may have escaped your notice, Vimes", said the Patrician as the watchman tightened his grip on Vetinari's uninjured hand, "but I am not a bag of potatoes, to be dragged around-". It occurred to Sam that what he was doing was in fact extremely dangerous, but Lord Vetinari's voice was weary and his face had lost the little color it had. But the Patrician did not let go of Sam's scarred hand. Then his leg collapsed from underneath him.

Sam instinctively grabbed hold of the other man's shoulders, steadying him and shouted for both Drumknott and Igor. He placed the thin man on his bed with great care before hurrying out of the way of a running Igor and a worried secretary. When Igor had assured Vimes that Lord Vetinari was merely injured and totally exhausted and pointed out that these symptoms also fit who he was speaking to, the Commander saluted, absolutely perfectly, for the first and only time in his career, and left the Palace.

Waking up to find that you fell asleep at your desk and that you have ink all over your face and hands is rarely a nice experience. Especially if there are files scattered all over the floor and it is the middle of the night. Registering that your boss is inside the room does not really help your case.

"What-?" Vimes said drowsily, as the Patrician placed a mug of steaming cocoa in front of him, "How did you get here?"

The smell of cocoa was comforting, and Sam sat up in the leather chair and tried to move around some of the paperwork so that it would appear tidier. The stacks swayed alarmingly and Vimes adjusted his reading glasses. Lord Vetinari drank some of his tea. It was in the nicest cup the Watch House had to offer.

"By carriage, and I must admit that I am pleased to see that I have an entire file cabinet dedicated to me".

Sam shook his head in order to wake up properly, as the ruler of the city looked around the office with an air of interest, inspecting all the framed documents that stated Vimes's titles and several high-profile crimes that the Commander had solved.

"Are you sick? Have you been given some sort of diagnosis?" Vimes asked, trying to find the worst possible thing that could have happened, the reason for this sudden appearance in his office.

Lord Vetinari looked at the watchman for a second and Vimes could see a faint, sad smile tugging at the corners of his lips, but then he shook his head slowly.

"No, your son came to my office earlier today, after you had left. He made it clear that he would be content to take over if I would choose to retire and he also requested that you would take some time off to heal from your injuries." Lord Vetinari said, indicating the dried blood on Vimes's arms.

"You are stepping down? Just like that? You utter-"Vimes said, his voice almost a growl, eyes wide in surprise. He stared at the man in front of him, who took a sip from his tea. Then Sam realized that the Patrician was not wearing the black, blood splattered robes he had been dressed in earlier. Instead he was wearing a black dressing gown and a white nightshirt and black slippers. Sam felt like he was at a strange pajama party. The possibility that the Patrician was so injured that it was painful to undress occurred to Vimes. He felt his chest tighten as the man in front of him discreetly adjusted the white handkerchief on his hand so that it would cover the wound better.

"I am informing you that you are going on summer holidays, Commander after the matters linked to recent events have been sorted out", Lord Vetinari said in a quiet voice as he dumped an entire pile of yellowing paper that had been on the desk into the wastebasket.

"You can´t just leave- I don´t want to-"Sam said desperately, hoping that Havelock understood all the things he could not say out loud. Pain, which had been ignored up until now reared its head and Vimes tried to make sense of a future that would not include Vetinari as his boss. Sam fought the urges to pinch his arm to check if he was having a nightmare or place his head in his hands.

"No", the tall man said as he placed the empty teacup on the desk, "I have several matters to attend to before I leave my position, I will not leave just yet".

Sam drank some of his cocoa to try to hide the expression on his face, which he was sure revealed just how happy about this he was. He needed time to adjust to things like this. When he looked up again the Patrician had gone with an almost comforting 'do not let me detain you'.

His heart was beating very hard in his chest as the door closed.

A full month later the butler Willikins was loading a carriage in front of the manor. Vimes felt the weight of his Watch badge in one of the inner pockets of his jacket. Always the copper, Sam spotted a suitcase he was sure he did not own and had not packed. Advancing carefully, the watchman opened the dark, obviously expensive suitcase only to find a thick, leather bound book about accountants and some black clothes.

"Vetinari", Sam muttered under his breath, "you sneaky bastard". Then he walked over to the door of the vehicle and opened it slowly. Lord Vetinari sat inside, wearing a new hat and a pleased expression. There was a small puppy in his lap, wagging its tail at the newcomer.

"How nice of you to load my things as well, Sam", said the man and petted the dog.

"I don´t remember inviting you" Sam said faintly as the implications of this event unfolded in his mind. But this was not an accusation and the Commander closed his eyes for a brief moment, listening to the sounds of their beloved city before sitting down next to Vetinari, who graced him with a bright smile.

The coach drove on, bathed in afternoon sunlight, leaving Ankh Morpork behind.

The end.

**Author´s note**: Please remember to review.


	5. Chapter 5

**Acts of Kindness**

A Discworld fan fiction

**Disclaimer**: I do not own these characters or the Discworld series; they belong to Sir Terry Pratchett. This is merely for entertainment purposes. If I owned Discworld, there would be a lot more Vetinari and Vimes conversations.

**Warnings**: Slight language, blood, implied violence and murder. Possible spoilers for Snuff.

**Dedication**: _For dogbotherers._

They left the city on a sunny day.

The Robes of Office lay neatly folded on the austere chair behind the magnificent desk and Havelock Vetinari stood by the window, hands folded behind his back as he regarded the city of Ankh Morpork before retrieving his silver headed cane and a single black, undoubtedly expensive suitcase. Directions and suggested future plans were in a neat pile in one of the hidden drawers in the desk.

There was no ceremony, no speeches and no fuss.

"An honor, Drumknott," Vetinari remarked as he shook the secretary's hand firmly. "Likewise, sir" said the other man, keeping his face as steady as possible as the Patrician lifted his hand in goodbye to everyone and stepped over the threshold of the Patrician's Palace for the very last time.

They have always functioned on the basis of certain rules and guidelines. The rules have been bent and broken and expertly mended. New ones have been made in the fullness of time others replaced ones that no longer applied, Sam thought as he crammed the remains of the pile marked 'Vetinari' into the second file cabinet that was dedicated to the man.

But the base had always been the same. Boss and employee. Ruler of the city and the head of the police. A finger steepling, eyebrow raising ruler and a question evading, rage wielding thief chasing bastard. We order the word through roles, in many ways. If you take away the Patrician, the Watchman, if you take away their jobs, what is left?

Sam turned around, his desk was clean for the first time in at least ten years and he did not know what to do with himself. Documents that described his titles and various high profile crimes lined the walls. So did newspaper clippings that described the building of Watch Houses, those clacks towers and various rewards that Vetinari had presented him with over the years.

We have done our bit, Vimes thought grimly as he heard the unmistakable shouts of Lord Rust downstairs and the sound of a large, well maintained carriage outside. He did not like the idea of retirement or old age and especially did not like leaving the city. But he knew that his body would not handle this life any longer and the truth of the matter was that he would never obey or serve any Patrician that was not Lord Vetinari. The members of the Watch knew that he was leaving and respected his decision to do so quietly. The rest of the city remained oblivious to both the Patrician's and the Commander's departure.

So he headed downstairs, his sandals were loud on the wooden steps which made Lord Rust even angrier.

"This is a disgrace," shouted Lord Rust, "Vimes I demand that you release my valet this-"

"Might I ask what the trouble appears to be, your lordship?" asked Havelock Vetinari, stepping into the room. Everyone in the Watch House went absolutely silent at the sight of him. The tall, black clad man raised an eyebrow at Lord Rust, who did not reply.

Sam straightened his back and quickly glanced at the Patrician with an expression that Vetinari had identified as Sam's 'I am secretly the president of the Havelock Vetinari fan club' face.

"Ah, Sir Samuel, I believe it is time to be on our way. Are you coming?"

"Yes, sir," Vimes replied and turned around to face his friends and colleagues, "goodbye everyone, keep the city safe while I am gone."

Carrot promised to do so solemnly and Detritus waved goodbye. Most of the others just watched as the Commander stepped outside and walked towards the black carriage in the busy street outside.

Lord Vetinari held out his hand towards Vimes silently, the door swinging slightly in the warm breeze.

You can turn back, his expression said, and continue to serve the city as the Commander of the Watch if you wish. I will think no less of you.

But there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes. So Sam took his hand with something that might have been a grin.

The little terrier puppy sitting in Vetinari's lap is well trained and does not bark at Vimes as he sits down beside the other man. Havelock's silver hair and beard looked even lighter and softer in the light in the carriage as it enters the roads outside the city. Sam entertained himself by looking outside the window and watching the robbers flee when they see his face. Lord Vetinari read a book that looked suspiciously like Pride and Extreme Prejudice with rather clear amusement at the cameos of himself and Sam Vimes.

Finally, they arrived at their destination. Sam did not know what he expected. Perhaps a villa or a townhouse in some faraway city, where they would barely be recognized. He had not expected a small, cozy cottage situated several miles away from a village. Around the cottage was a large garden with several tall trees and bushes. A garden tool shed was at the back of the garden. Lord Vetinari smiled as he walked down the small path that led to the building, crushing gravel underneath his boots. The sky looked impossibly large and wide.

Ever the copper, Sam inspected every room on the first floor thoroughly as soon as the luggage was safely inside. He stared into the bedroom, at the comfortable looking double bed and the dresser in astonishment and then hurried to the living room where Havelock was calmly arranging his books so that they would be in alphabetical order in the bookcase.

"You can have the bed, sir." Vimes said quickly, "I know that your leg bothers you and I can just sleep on the sofa in here."

Lord Vetinari looked up, eyebrows slightly raised and a huge dictionary in his right hand.

"It was my intention of sleeping in the bedroom upstairs, Samuel and I will not have you injure yourself by sleeping on a lumpy sofa."

"Right, s-Havelock, I will go then and-"

"Unless you would prefer the upper bedroom, I have nothing against the one downstairs or sharing for that matter, if you wish to do so."

"I'll just take the one downstairs, then" Vimes muttered, feeling slightly unsteady, "I am going to make some tea, do you want some?"

"I am grateful for your kindness, Sam and I would like some tea, please."

_In Sam's dream, the life he leads now is a mere fantasy. He dreams that night has fallen on Ankh Morpork and he can feel the heat of flames as the city burns to the ground. The year is uncertain, buildings that were built 30 years ago which were ruins now and brand new ones stand side by side. Blood soaks his armor, and his feet and legs feel like lead due to fatigue. Enemies rush past him, invaders to the city jumping over bodies and remains of buildings. His entire Watch has been slaughtered, he knows as he walks on. The knowledge drums through his very being. _

_Sam turns and runs, the puddles of rain and grime soaking through his cheap boots as he takes every shortcut he knows to get to the Palace as fast as he can. It is only when he sees the grand building that he remembers that the Patrician is dead, found lying in a pool of blood in the Oblong Office. Poison and stabbings and those bloody Assassins. Sam cannot stop himself from screaming._

Slowly, agonizingly slowly he registered a hand on his right shoulder, through the haze of pain and the sharp sting of fear that makes his body shake uncontrollably. His pajamas were glued to his skin with sweat. The hand remained on his shoulder, shaking him gently awake and Sam realized that he was safe in his bed instead of almost certainly dying on the dirty, crumbling streets of the city. Light blue eyes met his. Vimes could feel a long fingered hand clasping his own carefully in the darkness.

Havelock Vetinari was sitting on the edge of the bed, in his black dressing gown and his bare feet were on the cold floor. Sam remembered that Havelock was his friend, was safe and would not hurt him before he remembered that the man was not supposed to be in his bedroom.

"Are you all right, Sam?" the man said softly, his voice almost a whisper, "you were shouting for me."

Vimes blinked, the dream fading away like dew at sunrise on a warm summer's day. All encompassing relief flooded through the former watchman and he squeezed his lordship's hand, his own still trembling slightly, to see if the man is really there with him. When that finally sunk in, Sam's first, earth shatteringly powerful instinct was to grab the tall man by the shoulders and draw him close, preferably under the covers to shield him from harm. Instead, Sam shifted instinctively closer to Vetinari and focused on steadying his own ragged breathing and wiping away the tears on his face. He spent several minutes doing this but Vetinari was a very patient man.

Then the former watchman nodded, jerking his head harshly down and swallowed the huge lump in his dry throat. Sam could feel Lord Vetinari's thumb moving slowly over his palm in a soothing gesture, again and again. Blood rushed to Vimes's face, he could barely face the man unshaven and sleepless all those years ago. But he did not move his hand and looked up at the other man's thin face. Lord Vetinari appeared to take this as an important signal for something and shifted his position on the bed.

"I am sorry if I woke you"Sam blurted out, his mind hazy with sleep and still practically drumming with fear, "it was just a nightmare."

Lord Vetinari is silent and places an arm around Vimes's shoulders, leading him to the small kitchen. Sam tensed, half baked memories of just how dangerous the man is galloped in his mind and the little terrier puppy wagged his tail slowly as he trailed behind them.

"Let me," said Lord Vetinari softly and so very gently, "please."

When Sam was seated by the small wooden table he attempted once again to compose himself, closing his eyes and shaking his head to rid himself of the remnants of his nightmare. Watching the dressing gown clad Vetinari make tea and rummaging around in the pantry was a strangely nice thing to do in the circumstances. It seemed that Vetinari was operating on some mode that Sam had never even seen a glimpse of before, except perhaps with Wuffles.

A cup of tea on a saucer was placed in front of him and so was a plate of Ploughman's Pie. Vetinari sat down carefully with the aid of his cane in the chair opposite of Vimes, with his own cup of tea. His cup of tea was green and Sam's was blue, this was decided on the very day they moved in. There is something in his lordship's expression, something Sam had seen flickers of throughout the years on the Patrician's less guarded moments. It might have been mercy, or caring, other people might have said, but only in whispers in locked rooms, which were possibly underground. But Sam suspected that it is something else entirely.

„Thank you", Sam stated, sounding raw and looked into Vetinari's light blue eyes. Both men knew that he is not talking about the tea or the peace that surrounded them like a warm blanket. Havelock Vetinari nodded, the corners of his eyes crinkling and a faint, sincere smile gracing his lips.

There was a long silence, in which Sam chewed his delicious pie thoughtfully and the Patrician watched the sunrise as he drank his tea with as much pleasure as he allowed himself. Sam slept well when he returned to bed and dreamt of flamingoes and terriers.

"I do not understand," Vimes stated the next day as he walked into the garden, where Lord Vetinari was sitting in his gardening gear and planting roses in the manner of someone who is rather happy with the world. The watchman had spent all morning going through piles of iconographs and framing some of them to put on the mantelpiece. His wedding picture, a group picture of the current Watch and Young Sam's graduation from the Guild of Teachers. The little puppy ran around in circles, chasing birds.

"Hm?" the sitting man replied, dusting some dirt of his star patterned gardening gloves, "what is it you wish me to explain to you?"

"Why did you choose me to retire with you instead of someone else?"

"Well, Sir Samuel", said Havelock, coldness seeping into his voice, "if you wish to leave-"

They were slipping, sliding back to their former roles, back to frustration and icy comments. "No, Havelock," Sam said helplessly, "I don´t- you could have chosen someone better, someone who understands all your books and is more-"

"You are referring to someone who does not talk to the dog when he thinks I am not listening and in those moments refers to me as the melon-and-knife juggler?"

"Well, you spend nearly all of your time finishing writing your book and drink absurd amounts of tea," Vimes shot back.

"I chose you on the grounds that I wanted to spend my retirement with you, Sam. It is as simple as that," the silver haired man replied and pulled himself up by grabbing Vimes's hand and tugging until Sam helped him. Vimes smiled as he watched his friend survey the garden in a pleased manner. They stood there a while, since Lord Vetinari's leg did not hurt nearly as much anymore, hands on each other's shoulders.

The days passed, far more peaceful and happy than Sam could ever have suspected. Havelock let him have bacon sandwiches sometimes and listened intently to Sam's stories of past crimes, to the full details of the chase and arrests and bloody minded prisoners. Sam folded the newspaper to the games'section so that the taller man could begin his day by doing the crossword and placed a blanket over his shoulders when the former policeman is somewhat certain that Vetinari is sleeping. He gave the man books on music and praised his garden work in a gruff manner.

It was on a mild, crisp autumn morning, listening to the familiar sounds of Havelock's morning routine of shaving and trimming his beard and washing his face and hands, that Sam Vimes stopped waiting to be dismissed. Downstairs, in the little cottage his lordship hummed something that might have been a love song as he poured himself some tea and Sam's conviction that the black clad man would look at him and indicate towards two packed bags in the hallway with a pointed, cold „Don't let me detain you" faded away.

**The end**

**Author's note: **Please remember to review.


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